


Got The Ouchies

by colisahotnorthernmess



Category: Gladiators (UK TV), Real Person Fiction
Genre: Body kisses, Ficlet, Flirting, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Playing Doctor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 08:06:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14828555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colisahotnorthernmess/pseuds/colisahotnorthernmess
Summary: Retro tongue-in-cheek slash ficlet for the 1990's Saturday night UK gameshow Gladiators. Big bad Wolf likes to pick on everyone and, when Cobra tries to stop him, he jabs him harshly with his finger. He didn't mean to hurt Cobra - it's just... anyone that gets between the Wolfman and his prey - you know... What's he going to do to make it up to him? Kiss it better?





	Got The Ouchies

**Author's Note:**

> Old fic. Posted in 2008 to Livejournal.

"Your mother's scarier then you," he launched the _fake_ attack - you'd have had to have been a fool to believe it was real - but he tried, in vain, to scare the contender right off the mats. It was just Wolf's way. "That's why I won - I psyched you out," he lashed, knowing full well that he was _actually_ just _lucky_ at climbing the Wall that day. Honestly - though his family (Regan Pilkington who came second in the 1995 series) were _indeed_ pretty intimidating, all of these words and this pretend anger was part of Wolf's persona. He didn't mean anything by it.

Even John Anderson knew it was all _phoney_ , blowing his whistle in so-called _panic_ and rushing straight over to their sides with a hurried need to calm everything down. "Break it up, guys... Break it up," he argued, shielding Ulrika Jonsson from harm. He'd been 'tampering with the Gladiator rulebook' again, said John - pushing guidelines to the brink. They'd all have a good laugh about it later; they always did. Cobra joined in the fun and games by trying to coax our lycan out of the row, leading him away by his muscular arm - but, in doing so, took a nasty jab to the upper chest. "I don't need your help!" Wolf scowled. Fine then - it would be the _last_ time he'd give it to you!  
  
They begrudgingly trudged off the stage. "Hey, watch it, okay," Cobra grinned at Wolf, a sharp intake of breath against his teeth as he sucked back the pain. He'd been hit _harder_ than anyone had realised. The Glads are more than used to taking all manner of body blows - from tumbling down the bouncy castle-like softness of Pyramid, to a pugil or Gauntlet pad cuffed around the ear - but nobody was so _unknowingly heavy-handed_ as the team were with _each other._ "That smarts," he pinched a bit of skin, shimmering with purples and metallic yellows, which shone like Nightshade's eyeshadow under these lights. But she hadn't been _buried against his shoulder_ in a session of hanky-panky. This was _bruising_ , hardly disguised by his vest.

"Aw," Wolf sported a silly voice, akin to baby gurgles, and smiled, "Did I pokey-wokey you?" He knew Mick could take it; he was the joker of the pack. So Michael the Wolf could mostly get away with anything he liked. And with a soft kiss planted to the affected area, although Cobra was surprised, he certainly gave him no lip back. Well, it depends on how you _look_ at it. Not for the time being, _anyway._  
  
If that was his solution to the problem, then Cobra sure was in need of a _fix_. "Oh, I think this side hurts as well," the blonde then returned, flirtily, catching him up, "You might have to make this better too."

Wolf hadn't _initially_ set out to kiss every part of Mick's body - what started out as a small taunt, for _him_ , had now become a one-sided conversation of naughtiness and dirty double-entendres. Although, if Cobra was going begging, Wolf wasn't going to _ignore_ the invitation. He did his duty and kissed him there. And _when_ , not before long, he was suffering from such ailments as sprained wrists, broken knuckles and a runny nose, _every_ niggle was duly corrected by Wolf's loving mouth. "I think we'd better get you to physio - I'm getting worried," he smirked, rubbing thick fingers over the original wound.

"But," the younger sniffed, still pretending to have a cold, "I think my lips are chapped, Wolfy..."

That trick would never better him; it was the oldest in the book. In front of an audience of hundreds, the hairy creature quoth, "Isn't that handy - there's a doctor in the house!"


End file.
